


Neither French Nor Actually Canadian

by throughadoor



Category: Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:39:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughadoor/pseuds/throughadoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruno Walton vs. university applications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither French Nor Actually Canadian

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted November 30, 2004. For the [Scrimmettes](http://www.livejournal.com/community/scrimmettes/) [Canuck Challenge](http://www.livejournal.com/community/scrimmettes/11124.html). Thanks to Sandy Younger for reading, read-throughs and other anti-terrorist activities. Thanks to Pru for partner-in-crime style beta action.

"Okay," Boots said, pushing up from his desk. "I'm all set."

" _Tabarnak_ , finally," Bruno said from where he was sprawled across Boots' bed. "I think my stomach just ate my kidney."

Boots looked skeptical as he toed into his shoes. "Bruno, it's six-oh-five. Dinner started five minutes ago."

"Whatever," Bruno said. "I don't understand what took you so long." He reached under Boots' chair for his own shoes and Boots reached around Bruno for his sweater, marveling at how they managed to co-exist in a room the size of a shoebox without killing each other.

"Bruno," Boots said as he opened the door to their room, "it's an important decision! Where you go to university effects your entire future! How am I supposed to know where I should apply?"

Bruno shrugged. "I dunno. Close your eyes and point?"

They exited Dormitory 3, crossing the campus toward the cafeteria. "Have you even started filling out applications?"

Bruno waved him off. "Whatever, Melvin. The school year just started. There's no way we need to be thinking about university yet."

" _Tabarnak_?" Boots asked. "You're neither French nor actually Canadian, you know that, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

Boots shook his head. "Crazy American."

 

Unfortunately for Bruno, the primary topic of conversation at dinner was also university applications.

Chris, for example, was applying to art schools and nervous about the state of his portfolio.

"So, wait," Bruno asked, "you just send them a bunch of drawings and if they like them, you get in? How hard can that be?"

Boots watched nervously as Chris turned a violent shade of purple. Fortunately, Elmer interjected: "The university application process is no laughing matter," he said. "Large applicant pools breed increased selectivity and many universities only admit one in ten applicants."

"Bruno," Boots said, stirring his pot pie with his fork in an effort to make it look slightly less like a crime scene, "remember, there was an assembly at the beginning of the year? We were all supposed to make guidance appointments with Mr. Fudge?"

"Yeah, I've been busy," Bruno said. He turned back to Elmer. "So how do they decide who gets in, Elm? Do they draw names out of a hat or something?"

Elmer looked stricken. "Oh, no," he said. "At many schools a scientific method is employed, using a combination of the student's cumulative grade point average and standardized testing scores, admitting each student whose combined resultant variable surpasses a predetermined--"

"Yeah, yeah," said Bruno, who Boots knew had always eschewed standardized test results because he claimed they stifled creativity. "What else?"

"Well," Elmer said, attempting to look nonplussed about being interrupted, "many institutions take into account the personal statement, extracurricular activities--"

Bruno perked up. "Yeah? Like what?"

"Volunteer work, for example," said Elmer.

"School clubs," said Sidney.

"Exactly," said Mark. "Why do you think I edit the school paper?"

"Sports teams, too," said Boots.

Bruno brightened. "Well, I've got that! I'm co-captain of the football team _and_ the hockey team. I'm sure it'll be fine. Some guys have to fall through the cracks, right?"

The table was noticeably silent. It appeared that after seven years, everyone who knew Bruno had learned it was smarter not to disagree with him.

 

Still, Boots couldn't help but notice that Bruno still hadn't begun filling out applications to _anywhere_. He would have nagged Bruno about it more, but then, right on schedule, disaster struck.

"Bad news," Larry said when he sat down at lunch.

Boots groaned inwardly as Bruno looked up from his sandwich. Boots often wondered whether his and Boots' lives at Macdonald Hall would have been different if they hadn't been friends with the office messenger, thus allowing them to have a direct pipeline to every opportunity for trouble that the Hall had to offer.

"What's up?" asked Bruno.

"The Fish and Miss Scrimmage had a fight."

"Wow," said Wilbur, taking a rare moment away from the devotion he usually showed to his food at meal times, "that's like saying, 'The sky was blue when I got up this morning,' or 'Sidney tripped on his way to class today.'"

"Hey!" said Sidney around a sip of milk, accidentally spilling it down the front of his shirt in the process. "Uh-oh."

"You guys," Larry said over the resulting laughter, "I'm serious! I heard The Fish telling Mrs. Davis to go ahead and cancel joint graduation."

" _What_?"

"That's impossible!" said Bruno. "Joint graduation between Macdonald Hall and Scrimmage's is a tradition! They can't do that! What about the girls? What about _us_?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," said Larry grimly.

"Well," said Bruno with a familiar, resigned determination that always seemed to lead to sleepless nights, dishwashing duty and the possibility that Boots would go grey with worry before he turned 20, "we can't let that happen." He thumped is fist against the table. Boots sighed. Should he even try?

"This meeting--"

"Bruno, maybe--"

"--of the Society to Preserve Macdonald Hall Traditions--"

"--you should just let this one go, you know?"

"--is now called to order. Here's what we're gonna do--"

"It's just that university applications are due this month, and--"

"I want everybody to put their ear to the ground, especially you, Larry, and see if we can figure out what happened between Miss Scrimmage and The Fish."

"--the last thing you want to do is do something stupid and have it show up on your permanent record."

"Then we'll have a meeting tonight around two. That'll give Boots and me enough time to go see Cathy and Diane. We'll come up with a plan to get Scrimmage and The Fish to make up so they'll go ahead with joint graduation."

Bruno paused to take a breath. "Boots, did you say something?"

Boots buried his face in his hands. "This is just a bad dream, right?" he said. "Wake me up when it's over?"

 

The next month was kind of a blur, but they somehow managed to end up in The Fish's office no less than seven times.

 

"Mr. Sturgeon," Bruno said when they'd been caught fleeing Scrimmage and her shotgun less than twenty-four hours after the establishment of the Society to Preserve Macdonald Hall Traditions, "the relationship between the Hall and Miss Scrimmage's is so close that it feels like they're one campus, doesn't it?"

"And yet, Walton, I assure you they are not," The Fish replied. "Miss Scrimmages is a school for young ladies that is off-limits to the students of Macdonald Hall at all times, especially, _especially_ , after lights out."

The Fish hadn't raised his voice once, and Boots was looking forward to accepting their five days of dishwashing and making a run for it, but then Bruno said, "At all times, sir? What about special occasions like joint graduation?"

The Fish glared and Boots squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze.

 

"Walton, O'Neil, I asked you to come see me because a very interesting thing happened to me this weekend. Mrs. Sturgeon and I received an invitation to the Chutney International Bulgarian Film Festival. Have you ever heard for the Chutney International Bulgarian Film Festival?"

Boots was pretty sure that Bruno was giving The Fish his patented blank and innocent face. Boots had never been so talented, so he looked at the floor.

"If you haven't, it is not surprising, considering it _does not exist_. You might imagine the disappointment of anyone else who received an invitation who happens to be a Bulgarian film aficionado."

Boots studied his shoes.

 

"Informative pamphlets on deep sea fishing from the Ministry of Wildlife addressed to Miss Scrimmage care of William Sturgeon. A delivery of ladies hats for Miss Scrimmage with the address of the Macdonald Hall Faculty Building. Twenty-seven anchovy pizzas ordered by 'Miss Scrimmage' mistakenly delivered to my private residence. The list, I'm sure you can imagine, goes on."

 

The bench, somehow, got less comfortable every time.

"Well, Walton, what explanation do you have for me this time? You were sleepwalking and somehow found yourself in Miss Burton and Miss Grant's room, having miraculously crossed the highway and scaled the drainpipe in your slumbering state without disturbance or injury?"

"Actually, sir," Bruno started.

"How does six days of dishes sound?" Boots interrupted.

The Fish sighed. "Very well, O'Neil, I believe you have saved us all a great deal of time and trouble. Not as much as if you and Walton were to obey the rules of Macdonald Hall, but I suppose we cannot expect miracles to occur overnight."

 

"In the last week, no less than four students have confided in Mr. Fudge that they feel they are, how shall we say, born the wrong gender, and that they wish to pursue dual enrollment at a school for young ladies to aid in their, ah, transition. Now, is there anything you boys would like to tell me?"

 

"Walton, O'Neil, am I to understand that you actually _kidnapped_ the young ladies' gym teacher?" Boots had only just been seated on the bench and already his backside was beginning to protest.

"Well, you see, sir, it's all just a misunderstanding," Bruno begin.

 

The Fish leaned back in his chair, looking about as happy as he ever looked, his usual cold fishy glare positively lukewarm.

"Walton, O'Neil," he said. "You'll be pleased to learn that Macdonald Hall and Miss Scrimmage's Finishing School for Young Ladies will once again be holding a joint student graduation ceremony."

Bruno clapped his hands together. "That's great news, sir!"

"Yes," said Fish, mouth in a thin line but eyes twinkling, "it is indeed. However, this does mean that the grounds will need to be in excellent shape. After, the, ah," The Fish paused, and Boots squirmed in his customary spot on the bench, "events of last night, there is, of course, the matter of the re-sodding of the front lawn. A student work crew is in order, I believe, perhaps every night after meals and also on weekends. Perhaps those students most dedicated to the traditions of Macdonald Hall would like to volunteer?"

"Yes, sir," Bruno and Boots chorused.

 

"So," Bruno said once they entered 306, "when do you want to head over to Scrimmage's and tell Cathy and Diane the good news?"

"I don't."

"What?"

"Bruno," Boots said, shucking his coat, "I'm glad we got The Fish and Miss Scrimmage to patch things up, but I won't even live to see graduation if I don't get into a good university. For the last month, I've washed enough dishes that my hands are permanently pruned, been held at gunpoint more times than I care to remember, mistaken for a kidnapper and now I'm going apparently going to be a landscaper. I just want one night to finish these applications in peace. Is that too much to ask?"

"Hey, sure," Bruno said flopping down on Boots' bed, "calm down, though. We won, remember?"

"We always do." Boots sighed. "Have you even started your applications yet?"

Bruno rolled his eyes. "Melvin, Melvin, Melvin. Everything's going to be fine. I'll tell you what -- I'll go to Cathy and Diane's by myself to five you some peace and quiet."

"Don't you think you should at least get started?" Boots said pleadingly.

Bruno sprung up from the bed. He put his hands on Boots' shoulders. "Everything's going to be _fine_ ," he said. "I know you're worried that we're going to get split up next year, which is why you were such a pill about the graduation thing, but I promise you it's not going to happen."

"Bruno, that's not--"

"Boots. Look at me."

Sputtering, Boots ended up getting kissed square on the mouth, both of Bruno's hands planted on his shoulders.

"Everything's going to be fine." Bruno said. He patted Boots on the shoulder and walked over to the window.

"Why do you always lie all over my bed?" Boots called to him.

Bruno swung a leg over the window school. "You're the smart one," he said. "You figure it out."

Boots watched Bruno close the window behind him. The urge to completely flip out because of what happened was strong, but if Boots had ever learned one thing from Bruno, it was that sometimes you had to put everything else aside to get the things that mattered done. Boots read the prompt for the University of Alberta essay: _Describe a person who has strongly influenced your life_.

 

Bruno still wasn't back when Boots went to bed, and he wasn't back when Boots finally fell asleep, either.

When Boots woke up too few hours later, Bruno's bed was still untouched. Bruno, however, was sitting at his desk, furiously scribbling out what appeared to be an application to University of Toronto. Spread out next to him on the desk were all of Boots' completed applications and a bag of ketchup-flavored potato chips.

"What are you doing?" Boots asked, sitting up and squinting, feeling like it would be pointless to wish this was just a dream. The smell of the potato chips made him feel sick. After Bruno came to school at the Hall, he was very self-conscious about the fact that he was from Connecticut and took up a lot of very self-consciously Canadian habits. Boots hadn't had the heart to tell him he thought ketchup-flavored potato chips were rancid tasting, and now Bruno claimed to have developed a taste for them.

"Pipe down, would you?" Bruno muttered. "I gotta mail these by ten o'clock." He ended the sentence with a flourish of the pen. "There!" He swapped the University of Toronto application for one to UBC, and thumbed through the pile of Boots' applications for Boots' own.

"Bruno, what are you -- are you _copying_ my applications?"

"No, I'm just making sure we apply to all the same places."

"You -- what?"

Bruno kept scribbling all the while as he spoke. "I told you I was going to figure everything out. It just took a little longer than I thought for Cathy and I to break into the guidance counselor's office at Scrimmage's so I could get my own applications. Also, hey, check out my extracurricular activities." He tossed one of the already-completed applications onto Boots' bed.

Extracurricular Activities and Achievements  
\- Member, Society for Preservation of Macdonald Hall Traditions  
\- Student extra, "Academy Blues"  
\- Coordinator, Macdonald Hall Recreation Hall Student Planning Group  
\- Co-Chair, Macdonald Hall Student Pool Fundraising Committee

The list continued, all of Bruno's most infamous exploits made into college application acceptable faire.

"What do you think?" Bruno said. "Think I'll slip through the cracks?"

Boots felt a strange twist in the pit of his stomach that wasn't lack of sleep or the smell of ketchup-flavored potato chips. "I think it looks great," he said. "I think it looks really great."

Bruno pushed up from his desk and sat cross-legged at the foot of Boots' bed.

Boots looked up at him. "You're sitting on my bed."

"I am," Bruno said. "Usually I just sit on your bed because my stuff's all over my bed."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"No."

Boots tugged on the cuff of Bruno's pants. "Hey, are you finished?"

Bruno shook his head. "Almost," he said. "I just have to do the application for McGill."

Boots slipped his hand under the cuff of Bruno's pants so that his hand was cupped around Bruno's ankle. "I don't really want to go to McGill."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He pulled on Bruno's ankle, hard, and Bruno came sprawling across him on the bed. "C'mon," Boots said against his ear. "Let's go back to bed."


End file.
